by Christine Adams Beckett
Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?
-William Shakespeare, As You Like It
Give it to me in pieces, please,
Just a nibble, something easy to stomach,
Morsels, a simple sweet bit, soupçons,
Spoonfuls that melt on the tongue, like honey,
Tidbits, a gobbet, a taste.
Minutiae? It’s not trivial. Trifle?
An English dessert, layered in subtle
Creams, custards, fruits. Isn’t joy
Best delivered in snippets? Your cake made sweeter
By the bitter coffee that warms my
Waking hands? Even those who throw
The grand galas, know
That the devil is in the details.
For bright blue eyes are the most beautiful,
My love, when gracing a weathered face:
A visage that earned its deepened lines
By squinting into the sun, the same ball
Of scorching plasma that blinded us to the
Stars, upon which we only see fit
To wish in the darkest of nights.